


Fawn

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Body Image, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Bilbo finally get a moment alone to see and learn a little more of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



> A/N: Fanfic for rutobuka’s amazing art at [her tumblr](http://nastyrutobuka.tumblr.com/post/114102273150/i-couldnt-stop-myself-from-drawing-this-does-a)~ ♥ (Also I wasn’t sure of the correct tag for body issues, but “body image” came up, so just in case that isn’t right, **TW for body issues.** )
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After a very long time on the road—or at least, what seems a very long time to Bilbo, who’s never been past Bree before—it’s _wonderful_ to have the hospitality of the elves. It’s lovely to listen to their sweet, lilting music, to bear their pleasant, chivalrous conversation, and to enjoy their light but gourmet food. Better still is the promise of private rooms—Bilbo’s been _dying_ for some privacy, trapped with all uncouth dwarves and only one other woman she can only ever have in public. Yet Thorin makes it even better. She leans over to swipe a fallen piece of honey hair behind Bilbo’s ear at dinner and whispers, “Come to my room after?”

Bilbo shivers, ecstatic. 

She wolfs down the rest of her meal, and suddenly the peaceful music is entirely too slow. Her world boils down to alone time with _Thorin Oakenshield_ and all the infuriating seconds in between. By the time it’s over, Bilbo’s itching to _go_ , and she leaps off her stool so fast it almost topples over. 

Thorin is frowning, as she so often is. The burden of the journey is always heavy on her shoulders, and it’s no secret that she’s no fan of elves. But her lips at least twitch around the edges when Bilbo comes up to her side after they bid Lord Elrond farewell, and one of his attendants sweeps them off to their rooms. 

Bilbo ignores her own in favour of Thorin’s, not even bothering to go back to retrieve her things. When the doors are closed behind them, they climb onto Thorin’s bed, silhouetted in the sunlight slipping off below the pillars. The entire side of the room is open to the balcony, and the view of the valley below is mesmerizing, or would be, anyway, if Bilbo didn’t have such beauty already sitting next to her. 

She stares at Thorin instead, because the more they get to know one another on this wild adventure, the more Bilbo finds herself utterly enamoured with the Dwarven queen. She spent so much of her life trying to be proper, and decent, and delicate, and all those good things, and it’s refreshing to meet someone so very dissimilar: strong, independent, and _fierce_. It brings out a side of herself that’s a little frightening, but at the same time, Bilbo’s intoxicated with the feeling of being _freed_ , and she wouldn’t march back to the Shire if she could. 

She enjoys just sitting on the too-tall Elven bed, listening to Thorin’s deep voice tell grandiose tales of armies and royalty, orcs and trolls, even the terror of the dragon Smaug. Thorin makes everything sound so enchanting, so important and real, more so than any story Bilbo’s ever read. She’s always been drawn to books and maps of far away places, though she never understood why until she first heard Thorin humming beyond her bedroom walls. 

When the sun’s thoroughly disappeared and the veil of stars is coming into focus, Bilbo summons the courage to ask, “Do you wear that heavy armour to bed?” It’s a terribly bold question to ask, but Thorin makes her so. On the road, they’ve all slept as they are, ready to spring up at any time. But now they have the luxury of proper bedding, and it feels strange to see Thorin in all her thick clothes and metal. Thorin chuckles once, donning a thin smile. 

She sighs, “No,” and strips her dark coat from her shoulders. After that, she hesitates, then slips off one leathery gauntlet at a time, and finally pulls the mail shirt over her head. Her boots are by the door, but she’s still in her skirt and white undershirt. As her think fingers linger along her belt, she looks at Bilbo. There’s a flicker of fire in her eyes, the same sort she gets when speaking of the treasures of Erebor. The pause between it and her words is strange, because Thorin always seems so very confident, yet she’s slow to ask, “...And would you wear your coat?”

Bilbo shakes her head, biting her lip and trying not to turn red. She thinks that’s an invitation, though it’s always hard to tell with dwarves. She slips her burgundy coat off her shoulders and lays it across the bed. Her belt goes next, slithering out of the hooks, and she unclips the little clasps of her overalls. They fall onto her lap, and she can hear Thorin’s hitch of breath, as though Bilbo could ever hope to be nearly as alluring. Her fingers pause around the hem of her shirt, and she bites her lip, looking up at Thorin to blush and ask, “Should I keep going?”

Thorin nods reverently. The movement causes one of her braids to slip over her shoulder, catching Bilbo’s eye.

A month ago, Bilbo could’ve never done this. But now she’s bathed behind rocks amidst a pack of naked dwarves, she’s laid beside this woman under the open stars, and she doesn’t know when they’ll get another chance at privacy. She lifts her shirt slowly over her head, tossing it aimlessly aside. 

She sits before Thorin with her small breasts unbound, nipples already slightly pebbled with interest. Thorin’s head tilts down, lids falling halfway shut. She _stares_ at Bilbo’s chest, then murmurs with a slight moan in her voice, “I thought I must be wrong at first, for you to travel without a bra, but I knew I’d seen the peek of your nipples when the weather was cold, and the slight bounce of your breasts atop your pony...”

Bilbo licks her lips and mumbles, “Sorry.” It _is_ improper, but when she first left on this journey, she was caught too off guard to pack properly, and she’s usually been small enough to get away with no bra in her sedimentary lifestyle. If she’d known what she was in for, she would’ve forced them to stop in Bree to buy better supplies. 

But she didn’t, and now she forces herself to look into Thorin’s face instead of trying to hide. Her knees do shuffle together, her body unable to keep from fidgeting. The more Thorin looks at her with obvious approval, the more it bolsters her confidence, until she finds her thumbs hooked into her overalls, and she shifts in the bed to push the rough fabric slowly down her legs. 

It leaves her in just her panties. Small and white-pink, laced at the edges, in proper hobbit fashion. Thorin’s eyes widen again, and she mutters under her breath, “You’re _beautiful._ ” She shakes her head, as though she can hardly believe it, and Bilbo blushes all the hotter and gives into her urges.

She crawls closer, up between Thorin’s spread legs. Then she lifts up on her knees to reach her arms around Thorin’s broad shoulders, and she nuzzles into the side of Thorin’s face. The slight scratch of her beard always makes Bilbo shiver: so _strange_ and uniquely _Thorin_. She lets her own smooth chin draw along Thorin’s strong jaw, and when she settles back again, she sighs in adoration, “I think you’re absolutely gorgeous.” And she _does_. Thorin’s thick body, all hard muscles and light curves, excites Bilbo like no other ever has. But Thorin still frowns, her cheeks staining pink. 

She looks away to admit, “I... I must warn you that my transition isn’t all the way complete. I might not be the way hobbits perceive women.”

Curious, Bilbo says, “Oh.” She glances down Thorin’s body, not understanding—dwarves are much larger than hobbits, and certainly more chiseled, yes, but that’s nothing Bilbo hasn’t already seen. She looks up again to peck the corner of Thorin’s mustache and tease, “That’s alright. Hobbit women don’t generally have beards anyway, and clearly I’m quite alright with that.”

Thorin only blushes hotter. “It’s more than that, Bilbo. It’s with me, specifically. I’m going through a change, and...” But she doesn’t finish, just sighs and looks down. 

She’s spread the frown to Bilbo’s face, though only because it’s irksome to see Thorin like this. Thorin’s always been the rock of the company, the leader and the matriarch, and seeing her speak so vulnerably gives Bilbo the curious sensation of feeling both sad and fiercely protective. She tries to say both as soothingly and solemnly as possible, “It’s alright. I’m not worried about differences. After all, I’ve already fallen for a dwarf who could lift me with one hand.”

Thorin snorts. A grin tugs at her lips, however sheepish. Bilbo takes it and runs, nuzzling into Thorin again and breathing in the scent of her freshly washed hair, her natural musk, and the distant perfume of the Elven flowers on the balcony. In the glow of the moon and starlight, it’s hard to think that Thorin could see herself as anything but beautiful. She’s more than just handsome, artful: she’s regal and freeing, both hard and soft, brave and true, and just about everything Bilbo could’ve ever wanted to find in another woman. Bilbo can’t stop herself from pressing a chaste kiss to Thorin’s cheek, then the side of her nose, then the bridge of it. Finally, Bilbo makes her way to Thorin’s mouth, and they share the soft brush of tongue for one dizzying moment. 

When Bilbo pulls away, she whispers, “If you want to keep the rest of your clothes on, that’s fine.”

Thorin nearly winces. She mutters, “I feel poor for not being ready to expose myself as you are.”

Looking just as stern, Bilbo says very seriously, “We can wait until you’re comfortable. I can wait as long as you like.” She kisses Thorin’s chin and promises, “If I never got more than this, I would still consider myself a very lucky hobbit.”

Thorin cracks a smile. It’s a supernova every time, setting off butterflies in Bilbo’s chest at even the smallest show. One of Thorin’s hands slips to her thigh, and when Bilbo arches forward to flatten her body against Thorin’s, the other hand runs down her spine. When her breasts press into Thorin’s, she can feel the thin layer of Thorin’s sports bra beneath the undershirt, and it’s Thorin’s turn to shudder. Her fingers tighten along Bilbo’s leg, gently squeezing her flesh, the other hand lifting to splay between Bilbo’s shoulder blades, holding her in. The smiles drop into thoughtful, perhaps lustful looks, and Bilbo presses their noses flush together as they grow used to each other’s heat.

Then Thorin suddenly tugs Bilbo down, falling to the mattress and taking Bilbo with her. They land side by side, Bilbo unable to repress a giggle and Thorin pressing forward for a long, lingering kiss full of all the things she might be too proud to say. 

They kiss for a long while, before it’s time to slip under the covers, kick off discarded clothes, and snuggle into dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this beautiful picture](http://nastyrutobuka.tumblr.com/post/114102273150/i-couldnt-stop-myself-from-drawing-this-does-a)


End file.
